I wonder if any one would notice if I just walked away into the desert and died.
Uncle Owen'd just hire a 'droid to replace me.
No one understands me; it's always "drink your blue milk, dear" or "go fix this" or "YOU DID WHAT TO THE SKYHOPPER?".
God, I hate them. They have no idea what it's like to just rot on this god-forsaken ball of sand
(
Read more... )